Of Gates and Gods
by PurpleMoon3
Summary: Loki fell through a crack in the multiverse and landed in a reality where gods, of a sort, are still actively worshiped. He makes some alliances and builds himself an empire, becoming a 'good guy' in the process.
1. Loki's World

**Of Gates and Gods**

**A Stargate SG1, Thor Crossover**

**Disclaimer: The Stargate franchise is property of MGM and others that do not include PurpleMoon. Thor goes to Marvel and their legion of Minions. Norse Mythology in general belongs to THE WORLD.**

**A/N: I offered up a prompt on the kinkmeme, which received no fills. I was sad. I wanted some sexy Ba'al and Loki. So I eventually filled it myself. There should be more Marvel/Stargate crossovers in the world. EDIT: Sorry, hadn't realized formatting got rid of my dividers. Scene breaks now added!  
**

**Part One: Loki's World**

Loki hit the ground hard enough to bruise the sky. At least that is what the people will say in the years to come as history is shared, woven out of the air on wagging tongues and dancing fingers. The shock wave from his landing causes a small avalanche that wipes out a small trading outpost, but other than that the Folk in the valley make it out relatively unscathed. The night sky over the mountain is lit with shifting colors, blues and pinks and purples and yellows, and someone cries out in awe: "Bifrost!"

The next morning, a small group of hunters is sent to investigate.

* * *

They call their world Thyrmswold, and their capitol Lokahiem. They were moved there long, long ago by a trickster who promised their people medicine and a place of plenty in exchange for loyalty and service. Idunn's golden apples cured their plague, so they record, and in the land they have remained uncontested but for the few failed raids by those that come through the god-pond.

Loki wakes to soft linens and softer smiles.

The mortals call him _God_ call him _Loki_ but it is not till he sees the blue of his hands that he asks why.

* * *

It is not that they are simple minded, but that they have faith and trust. Loki is Loki. Loki is a Loki. It is impossible to tell them no, their belief system has an explanation for everything Loki says, not that Loki would bother correcting their assumptions even if he could. They do not run from his monstrous countenance. They do not run from his magics. He changes shape to spy on them and when he reveals himself they laugh and a trick well played.

They laugh and lie and cheat each other in a constant cycle, a strange equilibrium. There are contests of wit as well as arms, and a celebration for his return. Loki drinks, and watches, and falls a little bit in love. He decides he will keep them.

They call him God, but he hears King.

* * *

The other is hard to find. He is not hard to kill. Black eyed and small, Loki can see the decay eating at the Loki's very core. The other is -was- a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy and imperfect for all the science at the would-be Aesir's fingertips. They are shadows of former glory. Bodies without soul. Warriors that have laid down their swords and stripped themselves to the bare bones of ideology.

When he wraps his hand around the other's neck, he can feel the sleepy pulse of forgotten seiðr that had never been given a chance to blossom, and he feels no remorse for the other's passing. The star-faring ship wakes to his touch, rune stones spilling their secrets one seed at a time, and before long he is the ship. His magic weaves through it testing and turning and knowing and Loki takes the seat designed for slight, small forms. It is surprisingly comfortable.

He steers _Naglfar_ back to Thrymswold, a worthy prize if no warship, and watches as the majesty of Yggdrasil becomes no more than a blur of light and color in the corridor that the people of this universe call hyperspace.


	2. Neighborhood Associations

**Of Gates and Gods**

**A Stargate SG1, Thor Crossover**

**Part Two: Neighborhood Associations**

_Naglfar_'s database is a treasure trove of knowledge. The other had been just as prone to pushing the boundaries and rule bending as Loki himself. There are files and histories for more worlds and species than Loki has ever heard of. Libraries worth of genetic maps and possible combinations that are just so _intriguing_. The schematics for Asgardian battle tech are not disappointing, either.

The transporting array is particularly amusing.

His high priest likes to use it to spook the novices, but it's all in good fun, and they way they poke so interestedly at Loki's liberated sorcerous science...

...his people are highly adaptable.

* * *

There are other gods in this place, gods and ethereal spirits that feel weighted and Ancient when Loki catches sight of them in the corner of his eyes, but they are small things and many have small minds. Even these shadows that call themselves Asgard have curbed their actions. But the gao'uld, as they call themselves, are slick and wriggling with old, old minds that have been jaded into uncompromising stone. Gods, they call themselves. Gods, their people answer. Gods, the few free cultures sneer in both hate and fear.

Loki might have sneered, but for the seiðr that runs through their veins. They call it magic. Less educated (and sometimes more) call it technology. Loki knows it to be both. It is small, a pittance that they have laboriously taken into themselves and cultivated, but it is _something_ in this dry running world. Naquadah. Naquadria. Used to construct ships and generate energy. It is the distilled sap of the world tree and when Loki first takes it in his hands and blows on it the ripples become snowflakes that turn to daisies.

What he could do with such a thing...?

It is a pity Thrymswold has no deposits, but Loki is _Loki_, trickster god of magic and fire, lies and larceny, and he will not make himself dependent on anything no matter how tempting the power boost is.

* * *

Loki has taken the reigns of seven worlds, only four of which were followers of the other, with Thyrmswold as his power base. He's organized scattered, abandoned peoples, secured the contained, miniature Bifrost, and is _happy_. He never wanted the throne. He never expected to be given it. He never expected to _keep_ it. To _want_ to keep it.

But he knows he won't give them up. Not now. Not even if Odin himself comes knocking to bring him to face - what? Justice?

When the planet called Glitnir is burned, a single warrior in black armor laying waste to a village that has only recently begun the transformation into a city, Loki feels his calm contentment rip away leaving nothing but a cold rage.

Someone has woven a shield around the warrior, has increased his strength and speed, but his protections falter against the elemental frost that Loki summons, and shatters into pieces when the Folk descend like wrath-fueled Valkyries upon the unmoving form.

* * *

"Care to explain why your ship is orbiting my planet?" Loki asks as a man with regale bearing is brought before him. There is something off about him, ripples in ripples, and Loki approves. This man is a copy of a god. A perfect copy. Expendable, and yet, he was crafted with care. Devotion.

"Only to meet the one that defeated Anubis' dog." The man smiles, teeth and eyes flashing. "Despite the rumors, I see you are not Asgard."

Loki smirks and leans back on his throne that is more of a couch. One of his guards giggles. "There are many things I am not. And many things that I am."

Loki considers.

His people were the victims of an unprovoked attack. His people were killed -if only temporarily, most of them, for the healing arts gleaned from _Naglfar_ are a true wonder- and he would have... vengeance. But the sorcerer who cast the protections on the now dead warrior is hard to pin down. Sometimes Loki picks up glimmers of the trail in the ether, but he will not risk leaving his people unprotected to route it out. The magic of this place is primitive but effective. Loki does not know how such a battle would go.

He needs information.

They are both gods. They can come to an accord.


	3. Drawing the Lines

**Of Gates and Gods**

**A Stargate SG1, Thor Crossover**

**A/N- Just in case it wasn't clear before, THIS IS A LOKI/BA'AL PAIRING fic. There will be light smut, but will fade to black before anything really graphic starts. Also, why is it every time I upload the last period keep disappearing?  
**

**Part Three: Drawing the Lines  
**

Ba'al, for all that he is a copy, possesses all the knowledge, wit, and personality of his creator. He is subordinate in the hierarchy of clones, but it isn't a hardship. He is not a shadow and though he _is_ expendable, he is not a simple tool. He thinks. He plans. He has access to manufacturing facilities that Loki does not -most of his planets have populations too small to think about building on such scales, and only two of them had any kind of technology beyond hammer and anvil before he came- and if they combine their resources they will be a _force of reckoning_.

"It is a simple enough ritual," Ba'al breathes, eyes flashing over Loki's body. "And I can make it highly pleasurable. What better way to cement our new alliance?"

"Oh?" Loki smiles. There are other clones in the room, watching, thinking their own separate, distinct thoughts. He really should remember to ask Ba'al how he accomplished such a feat. While his other had the capabilities to clone, the aging process had been flawed. His creations had withered and died, fully aware, but so long as they lasted long enough to decoy from the other's purposes he hadn't cared.

Even Loki finds that attitude a bit callous. Like giving birth and then putting your newborn child under a glass to be gawked at while it starves to death.

Ba'al comes closer, close enough for Loki to smell his breath, Loki pushes forward. It is a sign of trust among System Lords, an act of mutual submission, and he finds it a little gratifying that Ba'al is willing to acknowledge his claim.

Not that Ba'al knows that if the gao'uld tried jumping into his body while their mouths were open and shared Loki would simply revert to Jotunn form and freeze him from the inside.

But it doesn't come to that, and while the one keeping his mouth occupied is petting his hair the Ba'al -another copy, though he is told the original is on his way- who runs the industrialized planet they are on comes up from behind and begins to strip Loki of his clothing.

* * *

Loki is growing to hate the name Anubis. It is the name of the goa'uld that attacked his people, who is attacking any small, weak, undefended planet (and the crippled Aesir side of Loki balks at the thought of such a warrior taking pride in subjugating and killing the women and children, the fathers and farmers and artisans that have no way to make war) that _might_ have resources he can use. Anubis is so foul a creature that even the goa'uld, who do not balk at wiping out entire populations and races, banished him from their realm for crimes unspeakable.

Loki really wishes to know what those crimes were, as maiming fellow gods, killing fellow gods, and committing acts of depravity on their human herds are something they all engaged in at one point or another.

Sadly, Anubis' forced exile occurred long before Ba'al's time, and the memories of his ancestors are sketchy on the subject. Queens can choose what they wish to impart on their children, after all, leaving Lord Yu the only one left with the complete recollections of that time.

* * *

Loki is blue when he first meets the leader of the infamous, or famous depending on who one is conversing with at the time, SG1. Their defensive lines have improved (and taking battles to beyond the atmosphere was so _different_, so _exhilarating_, to think in all directions of up-down-back-forth-when-where-how) to the point that several goa'uld who have been... disservice'd… by the death god have offered their support to the alliance of Ba'al and Yu (and Loki).

Which is why he is visiting this outpost of research and development where up becomes down but where they have yet to puzzle out a way to mimic the natural powers of Frost Giants and the Casket's own strength.

"This is petty. He does not know." Loki states, impassive, unsettled by how much the pointless torture gets to him. Perhaps he has been spending too much time on Thrymswold, where the people are kind and mischievous and have deadly accurate aim.

"He _does_." Ba'al hisses, hand going to the acid container, ready to fling more on the bound human. Loki carefully does not think of snakes and entrails.

Jack O'Neill looks up and cough-chuckles into his wounded shoulder (and Loki does not appreciate that it is one of _his_ knives that is sticking out of it). "Oh, now I know I'm loosing it..."

Loki bypasses Ba'al and locks eyes with the son of Neill. "I am Loki, of Asgard."

"...not." O'Neill replies petulantly. "Too tall. Too blue."

Loki's mouth quirks. "I'm adopted." He whirls back on Ba'al, All-Tongue transfiguring his speech to a rush of Goa'uld for their ears alone. "_What is the purpose of this? He is a warrior, and you've done him a_ great_ disservice. Either kill him or release him. We cannot fight a war on two fronts, not _now."

"_He knows where my lo'taur_-"

"_That is why you're doing this? For an unworthy, runaway whore?_" Loki is... Loki isn't sure what he is. He is angry. And annoyed. And several other things. He freezes the acid with a gesture when Ba'al goes back to business with a glare. The cold icicles shatter when they hit their target and O'Neill gives a surprised grunt.

With a snap of his fingers Loki summons his own duplicates, and as he presses his body against Ba'al's temporarily stunned form he swears to remove any desire for traitorous humans, no matter how beautiful, from his ally's mind. The son of Neill laughs a little hysterically in the background and asks if they could get a room. Ba'al obliges by ordering his jaffa to take the prisoner back to his cell.

* * *

"So." Jack drawls as a woman in a forest green dress with a bandoleer of daggers at her hip runs a machine over his wounds. It emits a soft white light and his skin tingles as it knits back together. The ship he woke up in definitely has Asgardian elements, lots of loops and vine-y things in the decor, but there's no little grey buddies in sight. "Loki and Ba'al. What's up with that?"

"Well, Ba'al isn't a horse." His nurse smirks as she flicks off the machine.

When they get him back to the SGC -because that was what the blue man promised, and everything was a little hazy but Jack remembers the look in his eyes when he walked into the torture chamber, and it wasn't the look of someone who had done the torturing- Jack is going to mine Wikipedia for all it's got.


	4. A History Descended

**Of Gates and Gods**

**A Thor, Stargate SG1 crossover**

**Part 4: A History Descended**

Jonas isn't Daniel. Jonas doesn't understand half of Jack's pop-culture references. Jonas is still trying to understand Daniel's impossible file system. Still, despite these faults, the kid manages to whittle down what Daniel would happily spend several hours discussing in the debriefing room to a few short paragraphs and picture slides. After Jack's drop-off at the Alpha site, and oh-so-thorough check for hidden body bombs and such, Jonas disappeared into Daniel's old office for _days_.

He came out bearing a patchwork of myth, legend, and rumor that painted an _interesting_ picture of their erstwhile Asgard. Blood-brother to Odin, AllFather and King of Asgard (Jack would have some questions for Thor when next they met), which basically confirmed the whole adoption thing. Currently, a renegade as far as the Asgard High Council was concerned, known for breaking rules and throwing morals out the window if he thought it would help his people. The only one who could command his allegiance and obedience had been Odin.

In between Replicator emergencies, the Asgard refuse to discuss the matter further, and would not give reason as to why.

Jonas clicks the button for the projector, and bullet points are replaced with an woodcut of a naked man bound to a rock and a woman holding a bowl over his head to, wait for it, catch the venom dripping over Loki's face.

Jack's own research and experience have convinced him of a few very simple truths. First, Loki was a sneaky bastard. Two, Loki was quite possibly insane. Three, Loki would make a damn good ally. An ally he would like to keep at arms length, yeah, but an ally nonetheless.

* * *

She's been flitting around the edges of his domain for a while now, and it has gotten to be distracting. Ba'al does not notice her. His people cannot detect her. The jaffa simply stare straight ahead when he questions them about her presence.

They are close, so close, to perfecting their weapons and while Lord Yu uses his armada to disrupt and distract Anubis from seeking out the Eyes, and Loki does not need the distraction. He grows tired of the prickling on the very edges of his mage-sense, worse than outright touching, and he gives orders for someone to get him a bucket of fresh goat blood. He leaves the ice-canon in pieces on the work table, crystalline matrix exposed and emitting soft purple glows, and stalks into the kitchens. Jaffa women -for they are on an orbiting, mobile research station that is melding of goa'uld and Asgard tech- scatter to the sides as he searches through cupboards.

They used to avert their eyes and bow low, cowed in the face of a god -of an Asgard, the only known race of gods to challenge their own- but time has gotten them used to Loki's... peculiarities.

He plucks out the herbs he needs, ignoring the curious and somewhat awed eyes that follow him out. Though he is not sure where it came from, a jaffa soldier is standing in his antechamber with a tethered goat. Loki mixes the herbs, whispers the secrets of the universe, and slits the animal's throat.

"Hello, little Fylgja*." He grins a not very nice grin as a woman appears in the middle of his blood traced circle. "Little spy."

"I am no spy." The very old being corrects, straitening as her intangible form drifts within the confines of his summoning. "I am Oma De'sala, formerly of Kheb. _You_ do not belong. You are a disruption. A wrinkle."

"Perhaps." Loki concedes, because he knows how well he doesn't belong. He didn't belong in Asgard, and this is not his world. More than that, it isn't his universe. He knows this, and yet... "But I fail to see how that is any of your concern, _spirit_."

He can see the twisted, dark threads flickering in her essence. Shame. Regret. Death. She thinks she is above it all.

"You will die." Her voice is full of a serene sadness. "No matter what you think you may be, this is not your reality, your molecules will destabilize and then..."

Is that all? He leans forward, careful not to break his summoning circle or tip the bowl of fragrant, burning herbs. He doubts she even knows how they worked to confine her.

"I am a _god_, fylgia." He reaches out one hand, because he needs the practice. This spirit is similar to Anubis, and even carries the taint of the Death God. Somehow they are connected. Loki grins wolfishly and reaches for his own seiðr. "I Take From You, Your Power."

It is more difficult than he expects, three levels of the research ship loose power and have to be manually repaired, but he wins.

* * *

Oma is afraid of him.

When he finds out she's the reason Anubis exists as he does, that she is the one who gave the godling access to so much power, he doesn't blame her.

* * *

There is an entire planet populated by the Dogs of Anubis, Kull warriors, and it is a force that they cannot hope to defeat. Not because of superior numbers, or skill, but because of superior defenses. Anubis has upgraded goa'uld tech with Ancient (and here as well does Loki hate Oma and her people) to plow through Asgard defenses. An oscillating frequency on their shields helps to cut down damage, but too much of Anubis' blasts get through and he _loses_ people.

He shouldn't care. He is a god. He shouldn't care.

He feels cold when he gives the order, feels Ba'al's hand come up to rest on his shoulder and slide possessively down his arm, and there is nothing but a sense of vindictive glee when the weapon goes off and there is no more planet.

* * *

"Lord Loki?" A serving girl dressed in browns and golds questions as she enters his chambers. "The god-pond has activated. The Midgardians are here."

"Thank you, Brynja." She smiles -it is bright and brilliant and he _does_ see the needles secreted about her, the fingers meant for picking pockets and tickling fancies- and he when he rises from his meditations he feels just a tiny bit warmer for it.

They have Anubis on the ropes, now, but there are other things to be done. Preparations to be made. Taking out his patchwork army is easy with the Dogs reduced to a handful of shock troops, but to kill what is, according to Oma, neither dead nor alive but somewhere in between? Another of the spirit-kin, one Oma identified as Daniel formerly of Midgard, fought Anubis on the mystical plane and lost. Loki _will not lose_.

This is battle that cannot be won with hammer blows or a glib tongue, yet it is one in which he will be victorious.

The Midgardians have something he wants. A powerful scrying mirror. He has something they want. Tricks to eat at Anubis' shields and protect against his possession. They have a common enemy.

Surely they can work something out?

* * *

*Fylgja~ Something of a Norse death omen. They appear near a person's time of dying to escort them to the afterlife. Most often take the form of animals or, more rarely, women.


	5. Semantics

**Of Gates and Gods**

**A Thor, Stargate SG1 Crossover**

**Part 5: Semantics**

The only difference Loki can see between the two peoples are semantics. Tok'ra. Goa'uld. One claims to be a symbiotic sharing equally with the host, extending his or her life and giving knowledge that the frail, mortal human would be incapable of learning in one lifetime. That same one claims the other to be parasites enslaving the host body and pushing down the mind. The Tok'ra take pride in their difference of philosophy, of taking only willing hosts, while the goa'uld take whomever they find pleasing to the eye.

There are three swords at the Tok'ra's neck. When primed they split down middle, like deadly tuning forks, and crackle with caged energy. "The Tok'ra have no quarrel with the Asgard, nor the Joten." The dual-toned voice speaks, bare of inflection and inhuman. They have been doing their research.

"And yet you were found with your fingers in my pie." Loki watches for the irritated flash. Oh, they think themselves better. They think themselves superior. In their own way they think themselves gods, long-lived keepers of history and dispensers of knowledge. They take their hosts and lure them with the promise of secrets (Loki knows how tempting secrets can be) and while the human mind is lost in the labyrinthine memories of the snake the Tok'ra directs the body like a master puppeteer.

Semantics.

"We apologize, but your alliance with the goa'uld Ba'al is well known..."

Loki finds it hilarious that, technically speaking, Ba'al is more Tok'ra than the creature that claims that lineage. Ba'al had been building his base to take the high-seat of the hegemony for longer than this one has been alive. Ba'al's host is a forbidden, hidden relic -what would be called Harcesis- and this is why when Ba'al clones himself he creates perfect copies of his host as well. If he wanted decoys, he would only need one or the other. Jaffa are no strangers to their gods resting within the wombs of their priestess' while awaiting a new host.

Some switch bodies as often as other do pairs of clothes. Some prefer certain genders, some hair or eye color. A few do dominate and push down the personalities of those who they take, but that is a rare occurrence. The split in attentions caused by the skism and fight for control between host and goa'uld is a weakness few gods can afford considering the intrigue and in-fighting that nominally occurs between system lords.

Ba'al and his host, Re'ammin, are in complete accord in all things. Two minds are better than one. Ba'al notices that which Re'ammin would not, and Re'ammin is so very critical. A perfectionist and a planner that might even give the AllFather a run for his money.

They both have egos the size of planets.

Loki considers it a point of pride he can tell which is in control at any one moment. There is a difference in their laughs, in the way they use their lips on the back of his neck, the shell of his ear.

"Yes. It is." Loki stands in his courtyard, and holds his arms up to the sun that warms him. His magic swirls, and he smiles at the thought of the Tok'ra watching and wondering how it is that he does it. What technology he hides in his clothes or hair. Which bit of jewelry can perform such delicate acts of manipulation. "Know this, Tok'ra. I take my vows seriously. The only reason you live is because of the Tau'ri. Should I find you or yours sneaking about my libraries again I will not hesitate to hand you over to my _ally_."

* * *

Midgard has a saying that, paraphrased, culminates to mean believing is half the battle. If you don't believe you can do something, then you won't.

Belief is a very powerful force.

Without belief, magic would be nothing more than wisps of thought scattered in a breeze.

Once upon a time, when the Casket of Ancient Winters was in the hands of Laufey and his armies Asgard drew upon belief to strengthen themselves. They let the Midgardians name them gods and took in the worship and belief of the people. There are others that use this method of gaining power. Oma does not like to admit to the existence of the Ori.

Ori.

Ancestors.

Ancients.

Semantics.

Loki is a god, and his people Believe in him.

* * *

It all comes down to one moment. Loki is a god, and his veins burn with the fire of Belief as his ears are filled with the roar of a thousand voices. Frantic mutterings. Prayers. Outside in the skies enemy Death Gliders meet his own Falcon Skins. Motherships exchange volleys. Warriors pray to him, to give him power and time, and Anubis will not escape. It is a battlefield that stretches across three solar systems and nine planets, forces arrayed to parry and strike, and Loki can feel the heat that threatens to incinerate his own body as he ghosts through the Ha'tak, his own carefully selected war party trailing behind.

In an abstract way, he notes how odd it is to be leader. This is what Thor should be doing with his red cloak flapping- a promise of blood shed and glory.

He flicks his fingers and a blade of ice travels through the air, through a skein of gold, and strikes at the heart of an enemy jaffa. Behind him he can hear Ba'al swing his sword with all the expertise a thousand lifetimes of training can give -of course it is not the original Ba'al, for he is elsewhere directing the wider battle- while two of his own people armed with blades that alternate between spitting ice and a sheath of fire make quick work of the skeleton guard. Ba'al's own jaffa spread out to watch the perimeter. The last of the Kull warriors are down, split open, but none of the little boarding party can relax.

An explosion rocks the ship.

"Loki, what should we do?" His acolyte whispers, brown eyes hard and knuckles white even as his lips twist into a mad grin at the words.

"Patience. If the Midgardians have done their part..."

"Tau'ri." Ba'al snorts, comparing their paltry forces to tiny knives when this is clearly a fight of titans -of _gods_- and they cannot hope to tip the balance. But Loki has always favored daggers over broadswords and hammers, so much more elegant and easier to slip through the tiny cracks of even the best defense to bury between ribs, so it is with extreme satisfaction that he laughs and twists his form to suit his purposes as the ship rocks again.

Anubis' escape pod has been disabled. The entire bank of escape pods, and the west hanger, collapsed into so much rubble.

The final legs of the journey are easy in comparison, most of the fire has been taken out of those enemy forces that remain, and they don't even make it to the bridge before they run into the goa'uld that would have Ascended.

Loki does not bother with greetings. He simply launches himself forward, hands like frozen claws, and vanishes in a cloud of light as death screams.

Anubis, who thought himself so clever, and a trickster, and a god, learns what it is to be unmade.

* * *

"Hello, AllFather." Loki whispers from the shadows, his own power pulsing under his skin like cold fire. With a snap and a crackle this Odin turns, black eyes tinged with insanity and sharp teeth bared in a smile. A sliver of magic wraps around Loki, testing, and Loki caresses it like he would a lost kitten.

"Loki?" Unlike his kin who copied their bodies and their minds into fresh, frail shells this Odin is old and grizzled. There are scars, and one eye has been replaced by the glowing light of science-sorcery. He sniffs, his magic whirling back to his hand, and shakes his bald head while rubbing at rough gray skin. "No. No. You gave up. You threw in with _them_. To be one of _them_."

"Them?" Loki is curious.

Odin sneers. "The _Children_. Thor. They thought they could avert Ragnarok. Side-step the cycle and make everyone Immortal. But you..." He sniffs again. "_Seiðr._"

Odin goes back to his screens and his lab. Creatures have been taken apart and put back together. On the mirrors Loki watches as men and women fight and die, their bodies enveloped in the white light of the transporter only to be reformed in a Healing Hall. Oh, yes, Loki can _use_ this. He walks forward and hovers to watch as Odin works. Odin is old, clinging to life with sheer will-power and madness.

"We all die." Odin whispers, stepping back with his eyes locked on a screen as a man with some kind of automatic weapon sheers an enemy force in two. "We cannot fight it. One way or another, we all die. Tell me, you-who-would-be-brother, what of mine?"

Loki sees no reason to lie. "I killed him."

Odin says nothing, mouth a grim line. "The Twilight is coming."

"It already came." Loki tells him that Hel's -or rather Reese's- army took the form of unstoppable, replicating metal insects. In their desperation, as they always inevitably do, the Asgard gifted humanity with all their lore before destroying themselves. Perhaps, in another few thousand years, once the cycle has reset itself, the Asgard of this place will once again be myth and legend and gods made flesh.

Perhaps.

* * *

Loki will not admit to missing his lunk-headed brother. He will not admit to finding himself looking to the side expecting to see Hogun's grim expression at Thor's latest idiotic plan, or seeing the flash of a dark pony tail and expecting a slew of cutting remarks he'll be only too happy to return. It's odd. Because he isn't _unhappy_, in many ways he hasn't been more content than he is now (and he won't think about how many they lost even with the healing chambers, or the monument he ordered built that will reflect every last name from now till the stars burn out) he's just...

He'll admit to missing the mead of the feast halls. The way roaring laughter and stories of triumphs old rolled over him, including him by default if not by choice, and watching everyone be happy. He could pretend to be happy, too.

Perhaps he does miss his brother.

He could have done it.

_I have done it._

"So." The Son of Neill says as his soldiers cart out the promised payment. It is so refreshing to deal with people who bargain in good faith, for reasonable stakes. "You killed Death, what are ya going to do now? Disneyworld?"

Loki laughs, he can't help it, and the ale that was provided sloshes out onto his shaking hands.


	6. Going Home

**Of Gates and Gods**

**A Stargate SG1, Thor Crossover**

**A/N- And now, AVENGERS!  
**

**Epilogue: Going Home**

Midgard called it a Mirror, but it is more like a doorway. After one too many accidents they tried to destroy it and failed. Loki's eyes easily pick out where smoke and soot crust into the edges of the stone mount, because while it is not built of the self-same material as the god-ponds (Stargates, Chappa'ai, Astria Portas) it has the same near indestructible quality to it. Samantha Carter and Daniel Jackson theorized it was built by the Ancients. The Midgardians were happy, if a bit hesitant, to be rid of the thing as they could not destroy it, and handed over several reams of research notes and test results along with the Quantum Mirror's custody.

When he runs his fingers over the deactivated silver surface, Loki knows it wasn't built by the Ancients. Even to those seekers of knowledge it was a mystery. Like Mjolnir, this is a left over piece of another age. A past cycle. The humans called it a Mirror. Loki knows it as Mímir, a well of wisdom and possibilities.

The trick is picking out the right one.

But in the end, even after he finds it, finds the war that is being wrought within it, Loki goes to his people. He goes to them and asks what they would have him do.

* * *

This is what the world knows:

Ten years ago, a sinkhole swallowed nearly one and a half miles of desert. Ten years ago the world learned it was not alone -though some had known that for as long as thirteen. Ten years ago, a hole was ripped open in the sky and malformed creatures (demons, some of the more religious groups claim), part organic and part cybernetic, poured through on a mission, it was assumed, of conquest. Ten years ago a team was formed to stop them, and stop them they did. Tony Stark effectively killed an army with a well re-directed nuke. Ten years ago the Avengers Assembled and celebrated their short-lived victory.

The Tesseract, a WMD to top all WMDs, was surrendered to Thor and Asgard -a neutral if not allied planet- on the assumption that its latent energies were the temptation that drew the Chitauri to Earth. If the Chitauri wanted it still, they would be directed to Asgard to retrieve it and bring war to a much more prepared race. In doing this, Earth gave up its one resource for quickly producing weapons on a scale that an interstellar war would require.

SHIELD and the Council's assumption proved false.

What the Chituari wanted, what Thanos (who they did not learn of till later, till it was too late) wanted, was a challenge.

Ten years ago earth had only met the vanguard. The scouting party, so to speak, sent to test the waters.

When next they came the Chitauri did not bother with portals or bridges. It took longer, but the Chitauri can be patient, and they came by ship leaving no portal with which they could be contained by and bottle-necked.

* * *

The Universe does not particularly like being torn asunder. Loki doesn't blame it, not really, but even as his newly claimed daughter (Ba'al made a comment, Loki was curious, and the irresponsibility of the Tok'ra now placed them lower than worms in his eyes) gripped his hand he felt something like claws shred through his soul.

"ARD active. Well holding steady at 85%."

He could see them out of the corner of his eyes. Wisps and faces sworn not to interfere. He had never attempted this intentionally before. Would he die? Loki placed a hand on the red control orb, felt it come to life as his magic sung, and willed the sub-space field to expand beyond the _Naglfar_ to the two carrier/war ships- _Hliðskjálf_ and _Skíðblaðnir_.

"Alternate Reality Drive at one hundred percent. Matter Bridge forming... stabilizing... we have Bifrost!"

Loki could feel his connection slipping. The boost in Power from his People slipping through his fingers, muted and made distant by multidimensional barriers. He bared his teeth. It didn't matter. He'd do what needed be done, and then return. They'd find a way. They were gods.

He gave the order, voice clipped and heavy. "Forward."

* * *

"Director, we're picking up massive build up of energy readings in the exosphere above Switzerland." Maria Hill spoke up by her station, fingers flying over her screens as she prioritized targets and defensive lines while ordering one of their few still functioning satellites to spin around and focus on the area in question.

"Shit. More of those fucking troop ships?" Fury coughed as he listened to reports, his single eye flicking over information. If they could just find the control ship... except what the telescope showed wasn't another warped melding of machine and beast, but three sleek ships hovering above the earth and spitting out smaller craft. Tiny vessels dropped out of hanger bays and unfolded flexible, metallic wings. They were oddly beautiful as they streaked out over the world and bright, white lights traveled from the ship to the earths soil almost too fast for the eye to see.

Suddenly, the reports scrolling past took on a more confused but upbeat tone. Apparently big metal birds were ripping apart the Chitauri transports, buzzing the smaller, personal crafts and causing them to crash like it was some sort of game.

One of his communications specialists squeaked. "Sir, there's some interesting chatter from the new arrivals. You may want to hear this."

* * *

Tony thought he was going to die. To be fair, though, he often had moments he thought he was going to die. None of them had taken, though. Not yet. Being crushed under bits of collapsed sky scraper as a butt-ugly Chit bore down on him looked like it was going to finally beat the odds. LA, London, Tokyo, Delhi... the alien fuckers had bombarded almost every major city leaving New York like some kind of twisted joke. _We can hit you here. We can hit you anywhere_. The Avengers were a small team, and good, but they couldn't defend an entire planet.

His comm was down, fritzing after some energy pulse that one of the Chituari transports released on exploding, and last thing he knew Hawkeye and Widow were streets away trying to evacuate a bomb shelter of civilians, no one knew where Hulk was, and Thor... the guy had become a figurative lightning rod instead of a literal one. The demi-god had become the Chitauri's number one target.

Tony blinked as the static image of his HUD showed his would-be killer suddenly lose its ugly-ass head. A woman in homespun blue and heavy leather spun around, skirts whirling beautifully, the fire-wreathed sword in her hand leaving a trail of ozone in the air.

"Hail, brother!" She grinned, spitting blood and swiping a shiny bit of Chit armor to stuff down her shirt like a secret prize. Tony watched as she made quick work of another three aliens and he struggled to get leverage, rerouting power and finally freeing his arm enough that he could assist her efforts.

"You wouldn't be a friend of Thors, would you?" Tony asked through his external speakers as he began noticing others dressed in some mishmash of archaic and futuristic designs fighting in the streets.

Her lips twitched. "Something like that."

* * *

Agent Coulson wasn't all that surprised when his cell opened, it was about that time when the officer-class decided to try their mind-meld-interrogation thing, but he didn't expect the woman that they tossed in with him. His captor's movements had been... strained... the past few hours. He hoped that meant things weren't going as planned. Earth wasn't going to roll over and submit. It just wasn't in humanities nature.

He watched as the woman shook out her dark hair and peered around at their cell like it was a puzzle she wanted to dissect.

She could be a decoy, a collaborator sent in to help break him down and reveal SHIELD's location. Somehow, though, Coulson doubted the Chitauri had enough imagination for that. He stood, straightened his shirt as best he could, and held out his hand. "Phil Coulson, Agent of SHIELD."

The woman looked at his hand for moment before nodding and accepting the handshake with a brilliant smile. "Vala Lokisdottir. Goddess of Thievery and Deception."

Coulson had done his homework. Lokisdottir. Loki, God of Mischief and Lies. That didn't sound too good, but Coulson decided to withhold judgement. Her black armor was interesting. And form fitting. "Asgardian?"

She laughed. It was... nice. "Hardly. I'm just as human as you are. More or less. Adopted." Then she reached into her own mouth and squeezed her eyes shut. A tear trickled down her cheek and with a sharp crack she pulled out a tooth.

Except it wasn't a tooth.

"Goddess of Deception. Right."

She spat a stream of blood and dropped the tiny blinking machine to the floor. "Alright darling, lets... how do you earthers put it... _blow this Popsicle stand_."

They vanished in a flash of white light.

* * *

_Brother..._

_Don't say it, Thor. You've never done very well with words._

_Like you?_

_Oh, I never did well with words either. I just painted pictures. You were the ones that wanted to believe._

_...we thought you dead. _

_Silly Thor. Now, give us a kiss._

THE END._  
_

* * *

A/N- Loki didn't appear to do battle because after making the jump back to his home reality he lost a lot of his power causing him to go into Lokisleep. But that's okay. The people he brought with him know what to do. And Vala. Vala's up for anything.

And if you spell Chitauri Chi'tau'ri it looks like they could be an actual race the goa'uld have encountered in the past. Just something I noticed...


End file.
